Evil lingers in the abyss of night; the forces of Good are coming to wage war for all Humanity. The first in a saga of an epic struggle Between Good and Evil. A visionary work of epic battles; of love; of betrayal; of trials and redemption. A soulful journey where the battlefields are on earth, and the world perilously awaits the final outcome;it will decide the fate of Humanity.

Daniel is dead. We have well established this fact. The matter is more of a tragic event because his life was so short indeed: all of one day. Nothing more that would give us pause to remember his history or his tradition; there is none.

It is the year of our Lord 1451 in the southwest lands of McCarthy, in a little known, small village upon the bottom cup of Ireland; and held in Irish lordship and sway for as much time as one can remember, and even beyond. The Irish and English have been in constant conflict for nearly three hundred years to this day. But there is no direct distinction with this date or a time within history. But no matter; fate has cursed the most innocent of souls and there is indecency within this mere conclusion. Yet as articles of Truth and recording goes, Daniel met with tragic end much the same.

Yet you might wish to know his conclusion and what brought about such a state as this. All who were there are of the similar influence. The land was not barren, but of green grasslands and long, rolling hills. You could hear the swatch of sheep roam the upper regions with somber grazing and variable calls. The land itself seemed to sit in the pit and palm of Heaven, and so bask in equal tranquility as its holy counterpart does.

But there was nothing to the measure of peace for Daniel's family. The parents had long-endured hardship working the lands such lords required of them; and to remain as keeper and custodian upon these fields and livestock. Not to work the lands would mean sudden expulsion and homelessness.

Such a joy, seven months prior, to have been so informed they were to be blessed with a third child; perhaps another son to assist their father in working the fields and livestock. John and Mary Mulligan had sought the refuge of such happiness. Every day seemed like a concurrence joy from the previous one. And as time brought her closer to the moment of Daniel's birth, the hope of all eternity appeared to cast their hardships away and give them more than what was required of them. Still, the moment in time came.

It was in the evening hours when Mary felt something not to the norm. Contractions became quickly to persist and a hurried physician and mid-maid were called upon. The tragic sum of events brought about a horrific night as Mary agonized through. And though, as such remedy as a physician and his assistant can render, it could not be served to save young Daniel from this inevitable end. Daniel was breached and quickly turned, yet the delivery was harsh and difficult, and upon his arrival it was quickly determined he was still; quite still.

As the joy of birth should normally follow; as quickly as the mourning were to ensue. Mary held to her lifeless child and in turn, so too did John. It was said the sadness inscribed upon their expressions were like shadows only born and befallen in such extraordinary times as this. Still; the banished hope waned and all was lost; all mercilessly lost.

There was a silence which endured into all moments. The family had been torn. Now, they were both vacant parents to this glorious child called Daniel. An insurmountable bridge had suddenly collapsed within their relations. They cuddled Daniel; spoke to him; took breath of him in every moment possible; prayed to God for blessing and forgiveness. And to this end, they would soon have to release Daniel to Heaven and its unknown boundaries.

What could people say? The hearts of so many would tremble at the sight. A child lost; a dream banished and to evaporate. No cause, nor reason for this mystery. Heaven knows, but its not telling. The pieces to that mystery would have to be unfurled and to be unraveled along the long duration of time. Perhaps, in some day long awaiting them, the answer would come and carry peace with it. Till then? A day, an hour, an eclipse of seconds strung in a unified way would build the rest of life, experiences, and history together. This would need to be woven.

Still, together, they both wandered through these moments; in shock, infernal turmoil, a sense of unholy matters, longing for what is lost, hoping that nightmares somehow only come in dreams – all this that they could awake from and yet find Daniel still in the bed of life and their happy future together. Sometimes roads will travel a different course; sometimes Heaven doesn't seem to hear or respond; sometimes the lessons have no meaning at all.

Many came to visit Mary and John Mulligan in their humble home; others sat in bay just outside their doorsteps. More country residents came by nightfall with torch to take a small spell and see the fallen parents, the wayward children, and the blessed child of Daniel. It was a village loss; it was a community loss; the bond's connected; the shared loss, shared their own. The mantle of Heaven in some manner had yet dripped the light of its faith down upon this scene.

The tears would flow from every direction; the drought of a river would not come in this eve. Daniel would be remembered as someone who should have been. Memories replaced rather by what loss became. You will drop your eyes in prayer; ask God for intervention; give home to heart and lift the spirit higher than it could fly on its own now. Somewhere the message flies about, uncalled for; looking for someone to hear what it has to say. You will listen; John and Mary Mulligan wish to hear the reasons.

Little Daniel lay in his intended tiny bed all the night through. No comfort lay there. Only dreams now made impossible. Still they came from near and far. The news quickly spread; still they came. There was love wherever eyes could meet and connect. Women wept at Daniel's little alter; Heaven must have shed a tear as well. The fog and mist and clouds and sprays and small drizzles and chilled, cold wet dews all came in calamity fold this very night to bring further emotion upon the scene. Still; Daniel did not move, but lay quietly like in some sleep; a sleep that God alone could wake him from.

Our little hole of earth can only show so much; make our view somehow small. The clergy say as much; there are purposes unknown; the equation somehow incomplete. We best manage if we forget; or in the least, let time heal what wounds will fester longest. Is there another answer? Will, in Truth, little Daniel rise when the sun also comes up in the morning? Can John and Mary Mulligan dream in their sleep that Daniel will be in restless play within his bed when they awake? Will tomorrow show all this to be a fake matter when sunrise is born the next day? Perhaps they will awake; you will see, and rise to find him there; not still, but eyes in blink, a smile transposed, a tiny heart to beat, legs to kick about, and arms to lift high in want to be held. Then, in all, little Daniel was only born asleep and has come into the world a little delayed.

Many arms did embrace them till the day turned to fall into another evening. Touches never failed to bring them warmth. The beat of a nation, a village was sure. Still; life can go on.

Author's Notes:

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